Fleur de Lys
by AlexRS
Summary: When the young Dauphin of France, Draco, is visiting Huguenot's lands, he is mortally insulted by a young boy with emerald eyes and the little girl with bushy hair. But revenge is a dish always eaten cold, and years later, as he becomes King, Draco will exert his revenge in the worst of ways...


**This story is the translation of a frech story named "Fleur de Lys" by DramioneInLove if you want to read the original version. As I am French, please forgive any mistake that might still be there after checking, (DramioneInLove also being beta here). So anyway, enjoy reading !**

 **Pairings: DMxHG; HPxGW; PPxBZ; RWxRV; LLxNL.**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

The carriage, pulled by eight dapple grey horses, flew along the narrow country road, the coachman seated among the pillows, collar raised to try to avoid the icy winter wind, his eyes wildly roaming the dark landscape, barely seeing the path in the growing light of dawn, even with the three oil lanterns hanging to the front of the carriage's compartment. The branches of the nearby trees, naked and ugly in death's season, were pointing their long fingers to the black sky, standing out like ominous shadows. The wooden wheels scraped silently against the road, only dangerously blocking themselves momentarily when they slipped over the thick coat of ice on some parts on the road.

The coachman was exhausted, having barely slept the previous night, because the procession he was part of arrived past midnight at the Château de La Garde, and then he had to unharness the horses, take care of them, and have a short supper of bread and wine before he passed out, unconscious on the straw near his horses, which was, in his mind, far from acceptable, as matter of daily routine, to the personal coachman of such an important figure.

A guard on horseback quietly cantered ahead, reins tight in his right hand, while the left was prudently left lying on the pommel of his sword. He threw the coachman a warning look, that the coachman immediately understood, having predicted and feared this moment since their departure. In front of him, he saw the first two vehicles of the procession break into an open gallop, - carefully preceded by a regiment of guards on horseback – and so he did the same, encouraging the horses immediately, the whip producing a sharp _clap!_ in the dark night. The horses took off with thunder. A commotion behind him informed him that the rest of the procession was following suite.

Inside the carriage, the prestigious character he carried stirred slightly as the carriage was swaying under its gained speed. His eyes fluttered open as he woke up, revealing their unique colour, equal to the storm, containing but a hint of icy blue, similar to the jewels of the most exotic Northern courts. The child – for he was no more than six or seven years old – pulled his thick, royal blue cloak lined with wolf fur tighter around him, and yawned, showing of a row of straight, pearly white teeth. A slight confusion could be seen on his aristocratic features; and on his silky blonde hair, almost white and a bit messy, shone, in a silvery dance, the lights coming from the outside lanterns. He was the most beautiful child anyone could ever imagine, and one of the most famous on this world.

Seated on the bench opposing his, backwards to the road, was his tutor, straight as a priest, charge for which he presented the complete gear. This man was dressed in all black, showing the upmost simplicity, but the quality of the clothes was stunning. Under a greasy black bob, his pale skin seemed almost yellow in the light of the lanterns. His natural austerity was accented by a crooked nose (that looked like an eagle's beak), and by two black eyes that judged people with frightening sharpness.

Staring at the wall above his protégé's head, he spoke in a voice that, despite its softness, held a ruthless lilt, his lips barely moving.

"A Prince does not yawn thusly, Your Highness. Force yourself not to, or if cannot be avoided, be sure no one may see you."

The child's eyes widened a bit. He sat straighter, unknowingly showing unconditional obedience to his guardian. Still he answered a bit haughtily,

"I am the future King of France, Your Eminence, and a King need not bow to the rules that govern the simple folk."

"Who said this to you? "

"My Father the King, Your Eminence."

" _Exactly_."

The coal eyes finally landed upon the young Prince.

"Your father is King, Your Highness," he stated. "For now you are just the Dauphin, and so you shall obey to my orders, as His Majesty deigned accord me the honour of your upbringing. What more, Your Highness, the powerful of this world, which you are one of, are more slaves to etiquette than the simple folk, because you belong entirely to the public."

The Heir to the kingdom dropped his eyes in submission, but a hole in the road that made the carriage jump, brought him to himself. Carefully stifling another yawn, he asked curiously:

"Why is the coachman hurrying my horses in such fashion, Your Eminence?"

The guardian discreetly ground his teeth, and pulled his upper lip into a snarl, whilst his right hand, adorned with a ruby-incrusted ring, touched without thinking a crucifix he carried around his neck.

"We are arriving near La Rochelle, in Huguenot lands, Your Highness."

"Ah! The heretics!" the Dauphin hissed.

A brief flash of pride could be seen in the guardian's eyes, but disappeared just as quickly.

"Yes, the heretics," he answered. "You shall see, my Prince, no danger will ever be greater than the one the Huguenots living in your kingdom represent."

"Are we not going to Bordeaux though, so the Huguenots of that land shall submit to the King's authority?"

"Aye, Your Highness. But even if Bordeaux had the common sense to submit to the royal authority, La Rochelle stupidly, desperately remains Huguenot..."

The Prince's pale face tensed with disdain.

"My Father the King should take advantage of our trip to take this city, burn it down and kill to the last the heretics that dare live on our lands."

The guardian gazed at his pupil with pensive eyes.

"La Rochelle is an essential trade port, Your Highness. What is more, the peace in Bordeaux is too recent still for us to attack those they just abnegated. But you are too young to understand the details of such affairs."

Before the Prince could open his mouth to answer, the carriage abruptly stopped, and the guardian scowled deeply.

"I feared this," he whispered softly before he rapped thrice on the separation, that opened immediately, showing the coachman's red, cold-bitten face. "Sir," the tutor growled, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Your Highness, Dauphin Draco of France," the coachman hailed quickly, "Your Eminence, Cardinal Snape. As it appears, the heretics heard of our travels, and just stopped the front carriage."

Severus Snape, Duke and Cardinal, friend to the King and the Queen, and guardian to the sole Heir of the kingdom of France, paled.

"The fools," he hissed. "They dare to stop the King's carriage?"

"Aye, Milord, and His Majesty can barely contain his ire."

"Who is the idiot who dared infuriate His Majesty?"

"'Tis none other than the Duke of La Rochelle himself, Your Eminence."

The Cardinal's left eye started to tremble, his fingers tight against his crucifix.

"And what does that moron want?" he finally managed to spit out.

"The Duke is desperate because the King did not want to stop at La Rochelle. He surely fears that His Majesty will choose another port for the Atlantic trade deals, such as Arcachon for example, which is near Bordeaux that just surrendered..."

"That shall be enough," the Cardinal drily interrupted the coachman's blabbering. "We will see what His Majesty will decide."

He slammed the separation into the coachman's face, and then leant towards his pupil.

"See, Highness, the heretics are not only your enemies," he stated in a gruff voice, "but the Duke of La Rochelle is their leader. The same man who just stopped your father's carriage, who is his King and master!"

The dauphin nodded gravely.

"I understand, Your Eminence, that when I become King, I shall fight these heretics with my life, especially this man," he recited.

The Cardinal stared the child down briefly, then leant back in his seat, looking utterly satisfied.

* * *

His Majesty decided to grant a royal visit to the Duke of La Rochelle – after all, he was still the absolute master of all the lands of France, even those belonging to the Duke. The procession – the King, his wife and his son, followed by the French Court – reached the city at midday precisely. The Dauphin didn't really understand why His Majesty would act this way, especially with the damned Duke's insolence for stopping the royal procession, and he couldn't obtain from his guardian – who met with the King during fifteen minutes and came back very pale – anything but threats of punishment for his insistence.

La Rochelle was at least a pretty city and ready to welcome the Royal Court properly. Each house front was decorated with lilies, the streets strewn with white petals, and the numerous spectators formed a guard of honour, dressed in splendid colours, clapping wholeheartedly the carriages as they passed, their faces the image of hospitality. Cardinal Snape, face tight, fiddled with his crucifix, a spasm in his jaw from time to time, caused by nervousness or irritation. Still wrapped in his cloak, the young Dauphin watched the crowded streets pass under his nose, impatient to finally arrive and leave the carriage, flee his guardian's severe watch… Perhaps he could even talk to his parents, as he had barely seen them since they left the Louvre a month ago. Indeed, they were busy with their peace negotiations.

Finally the vehicle stopped with a little jolt, and after a moment the door opened, revealing a lackey at the Cardinal's service. The Prince exited, displaying the majesty he had been taught, followed by the Cardinal, and walked through a great paved yard, framed by the walls of the Duke's castle.

The King Lucius the First, said the Proud, and the Queen Narcissa, born an Austrian princess, the little Dauphin's parents, dressed for travelling, were already walking up the outer stairs. Clearly they had been welcomed before Draco even got out of his carriage. He felt his heart sink. It appeared he wouldn't see his parents in private today.

Lucius, dressed in forest green stitched with silver, his characteristic hair adorned with a hat of the same green, decorated with peacock feathers, handsome traits drawn, remained visibly irate.  
He was speaking briskly to a man on his left – young, tall, with black messy hair and dressed all in burgundy and black – the Duke, surely. The Queen came just behind, seemingly irritated and her nose stuck up in obvious disgust; but her mimics could not hide the beauty for which she was still praised through Europe and beyond. Her delicate hands were hidden in her polar muff, complementing her pearl grey gown fitting her curves delightfully. She answered in terse disdain to the woman at her side, who was a dazzling beauty with surprising fiery hair.

Somewhere behind him, the prince heard a courtesan say in high-pitched and disdainful tone,

"Heretic _and_ redheaded. All that was missing was a pyre to celebrate her birth…"

Several people laughed around her, and the Dauphin could feel the Cardinal tense beside him.

"You forgot ' _traitor'_ in your fine description, Lady Avery," exclaimed another one. "She was catholic before her love match with the Duke, and the King of Scotland's sister-in-law above else!"

"What a shame and tragedy, an endless scandal," the first voice sighed, clearly enchanted to have something to gossip about. "But really, love and ambition just counter each other, don't they? They're conflicting… Lady Yaxley was just telling me the other day…"

The Cardinal picked up his pace, forcing his young charge to walk faster, and ignore the approving whispers that Lady Avery's words rose from the crowd.

They stopped at the entrance, and the prince was finally close enough to Their Majesties to hear what was being said with the Duke and Duchess.

"…are honoured," the Duke declared, "that you accepted to visit us, Your Majesties. The people of La Rochelle feared you would ignore our city in your travels to Bordeaux."

"And so I would have done, Sir, if you and your men hadn't foolishly stopped my carriage," the King answered flatly. "Anyone else would have had his head on a pike, cousin."

The Duke sadly ducked his head.

"I was desperate, Your Majesty, and hope, as the people of Bordeaux, to sue for peace, and end the too long rebellion against the Crown that my ancestors instigated. I tire of this tradition, for fierce, rebellious and fiery youth is now gone, Highness."

"We shall see," the King answered laconically. "I have been told, Sir, you possessed woods with good game not far from here…"

They proceeded to the gigantic dining room, and the monarchs naturally presided the diner, the Duke and Duchess sitting beside them. They barely touched the meal, nevertheless exquisite, and decided to retire early. The court imitated them: when offence was brought to Lucius and Narcissa of France, none would forget it in their stead.

"We will leave at dawn," the King stated coldly to the Duke and Duchess' defeated faces. "There will be no need to prepare anything for Her Majesty the Queen, His Royal Highness the Dauphin or myself, but you shall provide for the Court."

Disgraced in their own lands, in their very home, the Duke and Duchess of La Rochelle, looking mortally wounded, retired as well, and the Dauphin, bored, turned to his guardian.

"Your Eminence," he demanded, "I shall, if you will allow it, be joined by my playmates."

"I would gladly allow it, Your Highness," the Cardinal answered as he watched the Duchess of La Rochelle leave the room with hate-filled eyes. "But as it is, this castle isn't large enough to accommodate the entire Court, thus only the highest in Court are provided rooms here. The others must sleep in town, and so do your friends."

"Isn't there in this castle any temporary playmate available?"

"You are speaking of children of heretics," Snape warned him.

"It does not matter. I am not willing to befriend them, nor treat them as equals but as my Father the King's subjects. Moreover, I do not desire to entertain them of God."

"Your speech is blasphemous, Your Highness," the Cardinal winced, "and Their Majesties would not suffer your request."

The Dauphin thought for a moment.

"In that case, Sir, allow at least that I dispose of a playroom for myself in this castle, even alone, for their toys surely cannot be corrupted by their heresy. I tire of mine, which have been my sole entertainment since Paris."

The Cardinal accepted with a simple nod, and demanded to a manservant at the Duke's service to prepare for the little Prince the playroom belonging to the Duke and Duchess' only son. The servant hurried to obey, and not ten minutes later, Draco was led to an elongated room, his tutor guarding the closed door. The playroom was filled with toys, not necessarily worth those of the Dauphin, but nevertheless presenting inventiveness, beauty and appeal. The Prince chose a big iron box engraved with the Potter's – the reigning family of La Rochelle – coat of arms, and went to sit behind one of the desks. With joy he discovered in it a batch of fifty soldiers, of which twenty five were French and twenty five were British.

The prince immediately organized an open war between these two lead sides, and had been happily playing for a quarter hour – the British just took Calais, and the heroic French were about to win it back – when loud cries echoed at the door, alerting the heir. He ceased all movement, and his ears pricked up to listen. A child's voice rose then.

"… By God, what is the meaning of this?" the child said indignantly. "Those are my toys, and I won't be granted access to them?"

"Do not appeal to God, Sir," the Cardinal answered disdainfully. "You are unfit to do so, as the ignominious whispers of heresy seal your ears. I told you as well that the Dauphin of France requested this room. Play somewhere else, Sir; it is just for an evening."

"Well," the child uttered, "I do not wish to deny His Royal Highness access to my toys, I only want to play with them to!"

"The Dauphin will certainly not play with heretics' children," Snape dismissed him.

By that point, weary of this, the Prince jammed the door open himself. He was then facing Snape, whom he ignored, and turned his stormy eyes on the two children in front of him.

The first one, a boy, of whom he had heard the voice through the door, had his age and structure precisely, face alight with two emerald eyes that now sparkled with fury, and a mass of raven black hair. He looked a lot like the Duke – except for the eyes, that he clearly took after the Duchess. By his side, hovering slightly in the background was a little girl, also their age, with fine traits and eyes of the purest amber the Dauphin had ever imagined, sparkled with golden flecks. Some brown curls escaped the elegant hairstyle she sported, framing her dainty features. She stared at the Dauphin, and her eyes widened slightly, surely out of distress at knowing who was in front of her, and what power he held over them – but to the Dauphin's shock, neither offered him the customary curtsy. That infuriated him. How dare they, those children of lowly heretics, disrespect him so, he, a Son of France?

The Duke's son turned his ire upon him.

"Your Royal Highness," he spat, as if the words were burning his tongue. "Please remind your servant that this is my home, and for him to step aside."

The Dauphin threw him a stinging glare and turned to the Cardinal.

"Your Eminence, please remove these peasants from my sight. I am at game, and will not be disturbed by the son of heretic."

The dark haired boy wrinkled his brow, his chest puffing up dangerously.

"I take orders from no-one on my lands," he hissed.

"Harry," the little girl whispered suddenly, "Harry, don't…"

The one named Harry ignored her, staring the Dauphin down, who answered with a lethal edge to his voice,

"Are you forgetting who you are speaking to?"

"And you? I am nephew to the King of Scots, and harming me would guarantee war between France and Scotland. This is why the King of France doesn't dare attack my family, isn't it?"

"Are you calling my father a coward?"

Harry's emerald eyes seemed to be burning, and the little girl looked like she knew what would happen next, for she grabbed his arm, eyes worried, softly whispering the boy's name anew.

"Perhaps I am," was Harry's answer.

"Ah," the Dauphin exploded, trembling with rage. "We are still too young to duel, Sir, but I swear, that I do, I swear to God to never forget this outrage, and one day I will clean my name in the blood of your destroyed family!"

There was a silence, as Harry seemed overwhelmed by his own rage, and the brunette girl piped up, eyes narrowed in disdain.

"You are planning great things for us, it would seem,"" she hissed with contempt, "but as it is, Your Royal Highness, you are but a miserable little snake living at everyone's expense, and have no honour."

The Dauphin sent a freezing smile her way, the same his father sometimes offered his enemies.

"And you, you are lucky to be a girl," he spat.

To those words, and under the nose of Cardinal Snape - astounded as of the unfurling of events between his sweet pupil and the two beloved children of the Castle of La Rochelle, the Dauphin stepped back inside the room again, slamming the door. He stalked to the desk where the lead soldiers where lying, and picked them up them one by one to put them back in the box. He could barely resist the desire to smash them on the floor. His father often told him that revenge was a dish better served cold, so for this one time, he'd stand by his elders' wisdom.


End file.
